


This Is How It Ends

by MykEsprit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Harmony - Freeform, One Shot, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 10:17:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14162643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykEsprit/pseuds/MykEsprit
Summary: Because every story has an ending and a beginning – even theirs.  A look back on Harry and Hermione’s relationship.  Harmony.  Post-Hogwarts.  One-shot.





	This Is How It Ends

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters are not mine.

It ends with Harry standing alone in what had recently been their living room. 

He stares at the wall across from him, at the point where the lilac paint has been scuffed by a pointed corner of a black picture frame.  That frame now lies on the floor, broken in two large pieces and sprinkled with shards of glass.

The picture behind that glass now lies face-up on the floor.  She smiles up at him from the photograph, and it fills his lungs with lead.

***

This is how she leaves him.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she says.  There is no fire in her voice; no feeling, no energy.  It is months too late for any of that.

“I’m sorry I can’t do what you ask of me,” he says roughly.

Hermione turns her face away, but he glimpses her grimace.  She picks up the bag lying on their bed, the one she has filled with all her clothes and her books and her shampoo that makes her smell like a field of strawberries.

“Don’t make me out to be the bad guy, Harry,” she says bitterly.  “I’m not the only one unhappy in this relationship.  We’re making each other miserable.  At least, I’m doing something about it.”

“By running away?”

“I’m not running away.  I’m doing what needs to be done.  Before we end up completely hating each other.”

“I suppose you think that one day, I’ll thank you for having the balls to do this for the both of us?” he asks, scornfully.

Hermione only stares at him; any feelings she may have had is hidden behind a stony expression. 

She makes her way to the door but stops to tell him, “I Owled Ron earlier.  He doesn’t know that – he’s not aware that we’ve been having problems, and he doesn’t know that I’m doing this.  But, I asked him to keep his night free, in case he might hear from you.  Don’t be alone tonight, Harry.”

He laughs cynically.  “You’re even micromanaging our break-up.”

She grumbles something he doesn’t understand, and she leaves the bedroom.  Less than a minute later, he hears her Apparate out of the house.

Harry glances around, noting the things that she has taken – the organized clutter of her perfumes and lotions on the vanity, the throw blanket that her mother knitted for her, which had made its home at the foot of the bed. 

He sees the things that she has left behind – the brown teddy bear that he won for her on their first date, the jewelry box he had given her for her last birthday.  He knows that inside, she has left the diamond ring that once belonged to his mother.

The bedroom suddenly feels too suffocating, and he dashes to the living room.  He sees that she hasn’t taken any of their photographs, either, and he feels his anger swell. 

It isn’t fair that she is able to take her things – able to choose the items that she wants, to edit him out of her life – while he is stuck in a space that held her presence in every nook and surface.

He picks up the picture frame and throws it hard against the wall.

***

This is how they spend their last night together. 

It is like how every night has been in his recent memory.  He lies on the edge of the bed, facing out to the window.  He feels the cool, empty space behind him, and he knows that she mirrors him on the other side of the large mattress.

“Harry?” he hears her say softly.

He opens his mouth to reply but stops before he says a word.  He doesn’t know why he can’t answer.

Harry feels her weight shift on the bed, and he hears her sigh.

He closes his eyes and hopes for sleep.

***

This is how their last real fight goes.

“I don’t know what you want from me anymore, Hermione,” he says, throwing up his hands in exasperation.  “I’m an _Auror_.  My job’s not exactly known for being safe.”

“That’s my point!” she says.  “You’re still recovering from your _latest_ job-related injury.  You’ve been an Auror for six years, and I’ve lost track of how many times you’ve been admitted to the hospital.  I don’t know how many days and nights I’ve spent in the waiting room at St. Mungo’s.”

“I’m sorry,” says Harry, “but what would you have me do?”

She purses her lips and gives him a pointed look.  It makes clutch him at his temple and heave a sigh in frustration.

“For the last fucking time,” he says quietly, and with conviction.  “I’m not going to quit my job.  I would never ask you to leave yours, so it’s not fair that you keep asking me to leave mine.”

“My job doesn’t put me in a coma,” she says slowly.  “I don’t need to detour to the intensive care unit whenever I come home from work.  It’s hardly fair to compare your job and mine.”

He narrows his eyes at her.  “Your work sends you to the middle of Merlin-knows-where, dealing with angry giants and aggressive trolls.”

“I follow safety precautions when I’m in the field,” she defends.

“That’s a double standard!” he yells.  He stomps to the hallway closet and grabs his cloak.

“Where are you going?” she asks belligerently.

Harry holds up a hand to ward her away.  “I need to get out of here.  I can’t – I just can’t deal with you right now.  I’m so tired of arguing about this over and over.”

Knowing he is too upset to use magic, he leaves through the front door, slamming it closed behind him.

***

This is how he wakes up, the last time he is in the hospital.

He forces his heavy eyelids to open.  He tries to sit up, but he only has enough energy to twitch an arm and turn his head.

Hermione sits at his bedside, where he usually finds her when he ends up at St. Mungo’s.  She stares at him with wide eyes, which are puffed up and rimmed with red.  One elbow is propped on her knee, a hand covering the lower half of her face, but she reaches her other hand out to grab onto his fingers.

They stare at each other silently, both too tired to speak, but for different reasons.

Finally, she says to him, “This is the first time you’ve awakened in three days.”

She squeezes his fingers tightly, but he can still feel the trembling of the muscles of her hand.

***

This is how they work things out in the past.

“I’m sorry about what I said earlier,” she whispers to him across the bed.  They are lying down in the dark, but he can feel her eyes on him, as they turn their bodies to face each other.

“Me, too,” he replies, after a pause.

“I know you said it feels like it, but I swear, I’m not trying to control your life or make your decisions for you,” she says.  “I’m just – I get so scared, Harry, when you’re out on missions.  It reminds me of when I thought – when _everyone_ thought – you had died.  I saw your body being carried by Hagrid, and I couldn’t _breathe_.  And that was when you were just my best friend.  Now, that you – you’re my everything, and I don’t know what I would do if you – “

She gasps quietly, as if trying to reign in a sob.

Harry feels her arm stretch out in the empty space between them.  His hand finds hers, and he brings it up to his lips to kiss the inside of her palm.  He places her hand to cup the side of his face, and the gold metal of her engagement ring feels cool against his cheek.

***

This is how things first start to change between them.

“I wish you wouldn’t take on the dangerous assignments,” Hermione says quietly, as she stares at the casket at the far end of the room.  “You were there when he died.  This service could have been for you, too.”

Harry puts an arm around her for comfort.  “All assignments have a potential for danger.  This is just one of the rare ones that ended this badly.  Anders was a good Auror, and what happened to him was tragic.  But all Aurors are aware of the risks that come with each mission.”

“He has two kids who aren’t even old enough to have wands.  He has a wife, who’s been with him since Hogwarts,” she says hollowly.

“I’m sure that they’re proud that Anders saved so many lives in his last mission.”

She exhales sharply.  “If you ever die in the field, I can promise you that _pride_ won’t be the feeling that overwhelms me.”

He looks at her inquiringly.  “What are you saying, Hermione?”

“I’m saying,” she says as she stares at him unflinchingly, “that I think I want you to stop being an Auror.  Would you resign, if I asked?”

He tears his gaze away from her.  “You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” she asks, disbelievingly.

“There are still too many Dark Wizards out there.  Too many Death Eaters we’ve yet to catch.”

“There are plenty of qualified Aurors to do that.  You don’t need to keep playing the hero for the entire world, Harry,” she whispers.

He keeps his gaze steady on the grieving family congregated at the front of the room.  “I’m doing this _for_ you, Hermione.”

***

This is how he knows that his job isn’t done.

He stands over another body sprawled in an alleyway in Muggle London.  His partner Anders walks around the latest victim, cataloguing magical and forensic evidence before the Muggle police are made aware of the scene.

“Same markings as the other two,” Anders says.  “Ligature marks around the neck that indicate strangulation.  But a Death Eater insignia spelled onto the left forearm.”

Harry nods.  “Can it be removed like the others?”

“Yes,” Anders replies.  “It’s just a regular magical mark made on the skin, not an actual Dark Mark.”

Harry points his wand at the Muggle victim’s arm to clear away the symbol, but he cannot tear his eyes away from her vacant honey-brown eyes and her halo of dark brown curls.  None of the other victims look like her; the first was a short, heavy-set man and the other, an elderly woman.

However, Harry can’t help but think that this victim, who bears a striking resemblance to his love, is sent as a message specifically for him.

***

This is how he finally grasps the depth of his love for her.

It isn’t during a high-stakes situation.  No one’s life is at risk; they aren’t running toward or away from danger.

They are tangled up in bed, her head resting heavily on his bare chest.  She is sleeping soundly, exhausted from both her long day at the office and their vigorous, late night activities.

Harry is about to follow her into slumber when he hears a loud snore, followed by a wet sensation on his chest.  He twists his head to get a better look at her face.

Hermione’s mouth hangs wide open, and the moonlight streaming through the window glints on a sliver of drool on the corner of her mouth.  Harry runs his hand through her brown curls, and she flaps her mouth closed and nuzzles his chest.

Warmth spreads, from the point where her head meets his torso, to the tips of his toes and fingers.  He thinks to himself that if he can spend every night of his life being drooled on by this woman, he would count himself the luckiest of wizards.

He decides to go to Gringotts the next day to look for his mother’s engagement ring.

***

This is how they find their home together.

They are walking down a winding street in Hogsmeade, using the crisp winter air as an excuse to wrap an arm tightly around each other.  They each hold shopping bags in their free hand; his, from Honeydukes, and hers, from Scrivenshaft’s.

As they make their way to the town’s designated Apparition point, an orange blur crosses their path.

“Crooks?” Hermione says, in amazement.  She hasn’t seen her familiar since he left to go hunting one night during her eighth year at Hogwarts.  She takes off after the creature at a run.

“Crookshanks?  Crooks, is that you?” she all but yells as she chases him down the street.

“Hermione!  Wait!” Harry speeds after her and quickly catches up.

They turn into a narrow avenue lined with dainty cottages.  Although the ground is dry and clean, the roofs along the street are still frosted with powdered snow, making the buildings look like staged gingerbread houses.  There is no sign of the orange animal anywhere.

“Do you see where he went, Harry?” she asks him as she searches down the street.

“Hermione, I don’t think that was Crookshanks,” he says gently.  “It’s been two years since he’s been missing.”

Hermione stops and stares around the neighborhood with forlorn eyes.  “You’re probably right.  I just wish I knew what happened to him for certain.  If he was lost in the castle, or the Forbidden Forest, or –”

Her gaze falls on one of the perfect gingerbread cottages on her right, with a sign that indicates it for sale.

“Oh, look, Harry!” she says, as she makes her way to the gate of the front yard.

He scrutinizes the stone pathway that leads to the faded green door; the still-bare flower boxes under each glass pane window; the chimney stack from which he can imagine thin curly-cues of white smoke.

It looks simple, comfortable, charming, and special; it is perfect for them.

Harry faces her, and he notes the excited glimmer in her eyes.  “Let’s see if anyone’s inside to give us a tour of the house.”

***

This is how they spend their first night together.

He kisses her languidly, though his arms are slightly shaky from hovering over her body for so long.  Her legs are still wrapped around his hips, her heels still digging into the tops of his thighs, keeping them connected.

She pulls away from his lips and looks up at him tenderly.

“I love you, Harry,” she says, for the first time.

He feels himself smiling down at her like a lovesick fool, so instead, he says playfully, “That good, huh?”

“Ow!” he yelps, as she pinches a sensitive nipple.  She giggles and pushes him off to the side.  He gathers her up in his arms to face him.

“I love you, Hermione.  I hope you know that,” he says fondly.

She nods and places her hand on his cheek.  “I do.  I feel it.  Every day.”

He turns his face and plants a kiss on her palm.  “Good.”

***

This is how she kisses him for the first time.

The bright, colored lights outline the perimeter of the Muggle amusement park outside of London.  From where they are stopped, at the top of the Ferris wheel, they can see shadows moving excitedly between game booths and in lines surrounding the various rides.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Hermione says stiffly.  She grips the bar lying across their lap tight enough to make her knuckles stark white.

“Relax, Hermione,” he says soothingly.  “You’re safe.  If anything happens, I’ll take care of you.”

“How exactly are you going to do that?”

Harry waves his empty hands in the air, and says smugly, “Magic.”

She rolls her eyes.  “We’re around Muggles.  You’ll save me at the cost of breaking the Statute of Secrecy?”

“You’re worth a trip to Azkaban, any day,” he says, with a wink.  “You’ll come and break me out, though, right?”

She sidles closer to him.  “For making me sit on a bench, a hundred feet up in the air, with nothing but a thin bar to keep me from plunging to certain death?” she asks sweetly.  “I’ll make sure you rot there.”

He throws his head back to laugh, and their seat leans slightly with his momentum.  She screams and presses her body closer to him.

“What can I do to ensure my freedom?” he murmurs in her ear.

She peers at him curiously, and then leans in to press her lips against his.  His breath catches mid-inhalation as he registers the feel of her.  When she pulls away, it seems like the lights are brighter; the buzzing of the crowd below is surely louder.  He feels a dizziness that he has never felt from any great height.

Hermione smiles self-assuredly at him.  “Keep doing that until my feet are firmly on the ground, and I’ll make sure to break you out of Azkaban if you’re ever thrown in there.”

He eagerly obliges.

***

This is how he realizes she may have feelings for him, too.

All the Weasleys gladly accepted his invitation to spend Christmas with him at Grimmauld Place; he is happy to provide holiday comforts for the family, particularly since it is their first Christmas without Fred.

Hermione, naturally, has come to stay with them while on break from Hogwarts.

Harry sits on a stool in the kitchen, with the back of his shirt raised to his shoulders, as Hermione spreads a healing salve over the bruises on his ribs.

“Is there a good reason why they’re using your torso as a punch bag at the Auror Office?” she asks irritably.  “You’re only in training, for Merlin’s sake.  They should use protection charms on you when you spar.”

“They want us to have authentic experiences whenever possible,” he says lethargically, savoring the feeling of her fingers on his skin.

She makes a disgruntled sound and pulls his shirt down after she finishes her ministrations.  She faces him, and he feels his lips grow into a warm smile.

“Besides, I don’t mind so much,” he says, “when you’re here.  I like it when you fuss over me.”

She returns his smile tenderly and places a hand on his cheek.  “Good,” she says.  “Because I’m never going to stop fussing over you, Harry Potter.  Even when we’re a hundred and fifty, I’m sure you’ll still be out there chasing after Dark Wizards and getting Impressionist bruises all over your back.  I’ll still fuss over you and nag you to be careful.”

Harry places a hand on top of the one caressing his face, and he turns his head to graze his lips against her palm.

She blushes, but she leaves her hand pressed tenderly on his cheek.

***

This is how he first sees her in this new life.

He has just killed Voldemort, but there is no celebration.  There are no cheering crowds, no relieved smiles, no indulgent pats on the back.  There are too many wounded that need tending and dead bodies that need proper handling.

Harry staggers around the Great Hall, his mind enumerating the misfortune that surrounds him.  Every injured fighter he notices is like a vice around his chest; every dead body stacks a weight upon his heart.

His eyes sweep the room until they fall on her face.  She is making her way toward him.

He sees the joy in her eyes; sadness, too, at the wreckage around them, and grief for their shared losses.  But joy – in finding him alive, and in their long-sought victory, and in the end of all the torment they endured for years – shines brightly through her honeyed eyes.

The smile that grows on her face is shaky but sincere.  It makes his chest feel lighter with each breath that drags into his lungs.

This is how it begins.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thank you for reading! If you’re in the mood for more angst, please check out “The Gutter of Your Love.” The 7th chapter of “Friends, in Retrospect” is pretty angsty, too.
> 
> Reviews are very much appreciated!


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